A Mexican family was trying to find a nursing home for their grandfather. All the Catholic facilities were completely full so they had to put him in a Jewish home.
After a few weeks in the Jewish facility, they came to visit Grandpa.
“How do you like it here?” asked the grandson.
“It’s wonderful! Everyone here is so courteous and respectful,” said Grandpa.
“We’re so happy for you. We were worried that this was the wrong place for you. You know, since you are a little different from everyone.”
“Oh, no! Let me tell you about how wonderfully they treat the residents here,” said the grandfather. “There’s a musician here. 85 years old. He hasn’t played the violin in 20 years and everyone still calls him ‘Maestro’!
“Then there’s the judge in here. 95 years old. Hasn’t been on the bench in 30 years and everyone still calls him ‘Your Honor’!
“And there’s a physician here. 90 years old. He hasn’t practiced medicine for 25 years and everyone still calls him ‘Doctor’!”
Then with a proud smile, Grandpa said, “And me, I haven’t had sex in over 35 years, and they still call me ‘The Fucking Mexican!'”
Paddy decided to go rabbit hunting, but when he got to his favorite field, he saw the village priest was already there.
Paddy watched with fascination as the priest held his finger over the rabbit hole, and immediately a rabbit popped out. The priest grabbed it and put it into a sack.
He repeated this unusual but very successful technique until his sack was full of rabbits.
Paddy stopped the priest and asked him how he did it.
“Easy,” said the priest. “Stick your finger in your wife’s pussy and wiggle it around a bit. When you hold your finger over a rabbit hole, they can’t resist the smell. When they pop their heads out, you grab them.”
Paddy rushed home to find his wife bent over scrubbing the floor. He lifted up her skirt and applied his finger as directed.
It’s a little embarrassing when this happens, but it does. It’s not that there isn’t a lot to talk about, or my muse has taken leave. I’m just really busy right now with things. What kind of things? Well it’s the usual everyday things I’ve alway had to deal with, but these days there seems to be less time to take care of them.
So with all that’s going on, I can’t seem to come up with anything to talk about right now. Funny how that works, isn’t it?
Just wanted to point out something about that filler panel up there. That’s the “new and improved” Brandon. Looks kinda like the old Brandon, but the shading and texturing is done differently. I’m still working on it, but once I get it all done, it should have a cleaner, more professional appearance. Heck, even the couch and lampshades got upgraded.
John ran into his old pal Joe and asked, “What are you doing these days?”
“I’m a fireman,” Joe replied.
“You know my 12 year-old son wants to be a fireman,” said John.
“Well,” explained Joe, “if you want some good advice, you’ve got to install a pole in your house that will go to the basement so your kid can practice, because the hardest thing for a fireman is to jump off into space and catch that pole in the middle of the night.”
Ten years later, the two old pals happen to meet again.
“Well, did your son become a fireman?” asked Joe.
“No,” moaned John, “but my daughter became a stripper.”
Deep down in the bowls of hell, an English lord and his Irish manservant ran into each other.
“My lord,” the Irishman exclaimed, “What is a nobleman like yourself doing here amongst the damned?”
The Englishman sighed, “I’m here because I lied, cheated, and stole to pay the debts run up by that playboy son of mine. But you? You were a faithful, loyal servant. Why are you here?”
“For fathering that playboy son of yours,” the Irishman replied.
A window cleaner goes to a monastery looking for work. The Abbot hires him but tells him to clean all the windows except the top three.
So the window cleaner cleans all the windows except the top three for years and years until curiosity finally gets the better of him. He puts his ladder up against the first of the three windows and looks in. he sees 12 monks with their robes up and their cocks lying on a table with a mouse running around on top of the table.
The window cleaner goes down the ladder moves to the second window and looks in. There he sees a beautiful woman and a monk in bed screwing like mad.
The window cleaner goes down the ladder and puts it up against the third window. He looks in and sees a monk tied up, stripped to the waist being flogged.
He climbs down the ladder, but when he gets to the bottom the Abbot is waiting for him. The window cleaner says, “Look, I know your going to fire me, but please, at least tell me what is going on up there.”
“Well,” says the Abbot, “in the first window you saw a competition to see which is the lucky monk. Wherever the mouse stops is the lucky monk. And in the second window you saw a monk with the prize.”
“But what about the third window?” the window cleaner asks.
“Well,” says the Abbot, “that monk was caught with a piece of cheese in his foreskin.”
I suppose I should start by telling you how it happened. It was an otherwise nondescript day back in February. I went to get out of my rocker-recliner and when I scooched forward to get up, the front armrests bottomed out on the floor as they always do. Unbeknownst to me, Alex just happened to be laying down there that fateful day, and his left arm managed to get pinched.
Of course he yowled the loudest I'd ever heard him yell in his entire life and shot off into the basement. I felt terrible about it, but then I had no way of knowing he was down there when I went to get up. After a short while, Alex came back upstairs, and I was able to check for injury.
Shockingly, there were no broken bones, no blood, and Alex was able to walk just fine. It almost seemed cartoonish at the time, but down the left side of his left arm was a ribbon of flattened fur. He seemed somewhat indifferent to this, and acted like he just wanted to put the whole thing behind him. Seeing as Alex didn't appear to be in immediate danger, I took a "wait and see" position.
Over the next month, the "ribbon" began to shrink inward towards his elbow. I took this as a good sign that his injury was healing naturally and everything would be fine... But things were not fine. After a month and a half, his elbow began to swell. By mid-April I had to take him in to the vet for an exam.
The vet did a fair bit of Hmmm'ing and scrunched her face a lot. She didn't want to poke it with anything for fear it might introduce something. She took some measurements and expressed a "wait and see" attitude. I then scheduled a follow up appointment two months out.
Only a month later in mid-May, the swelling on his elbow had increased to the point that it started to ulcer. I called the vet and got him in immediately. This time they tried to drain it, but it went horribly. After the first stick, Alex started squirting blood all over the place, and the vet and technician freaked out and were running around looking for towels while I had to hold my cat down in a growing pool of his own blood.
After they got things back under control, she tried again with a larger needle, and went in from a different direction. After plunging to the center of the mass, she remarked that it was solid and that the fluid had probably dispersed into the surrounding tissue. She then went on to suggest that it might even be "malignant" and recommended a biopsy. They gave me an estimate for the procedure that ran from $500 to $800. I immediately left and made an appointment with another vet that I had gone to in the past.
The next day, my alternate vet didn't have any good news. By now, Alex's arm was very infected. At first he suggested that the arm would have to come off, but after noting Alex's age, he pulled back and recommended palliative care. I pushed for a quote on the cost of an amputation, and he informed me it would be around $3500 at the lowest, and that at his age, Alex would only live another 6 months after the surgery, and to just stick with palliative care.
They gave Alex a shot of antibiotics, a shot for long term pain management, prednisolone tablets and a liquid antibiotic, along with an appointment to come back about a month later.
Over the memorial day weekend, I cleaned Alex's wound and administered his meds. Alex was still Alex though. He obviously wanted to live, so I began making phone calls. Eventually I got in touch with the Humane Society. It took week and a half to finally get in, but after looking at Alex's arm, their surgeon said that the arm was "not compatible with long term survival" and agreed to amputate it... in two weeks.
That was the longest two weeks of my life.
Every day that thing on his elbow grew bigger and bigger. In the final week, it started to split open. It looked like something out of a horror movie. The outer layer of skin died off and eventually I had to cut the hard chunk of dried flesh off with scissors. Fortunately the antibiotics prescribed by the second vet kept the wound site free from infection.
And through all of this, Alex was still Alex. He just kept on living his life like nothing was wrong. Even with that thing on his arm, he still walked normal, climbed up and down the stairs, jumped on the bed, table, dresser, et cetera. Part of me knew this cat was gonna make it, but part of me was scared that his arm was going to go septic and Alex would die.
I felt relieved on the day of the surgery. We made it through to this day! Alex would be a tripod, but he was going to live! I dropped Alex off at the Human Society and went to work expecting to pick him up between 4:00 pm and 5:00 pm.
My phone rang a little before noon. The voice on the other end informed me that the surgery had gone fine, and they didn't notice anything wrong during the procedure, but in the recovery room, Alex's heart rate began to drop, he went non-responsive, and his pupils dilated. The surgeon explained that sometimes a blood clot will break free during the surgery and make its way into the brain. Alex had had a stroke. There was nothing more they could do.
Moments later, Alex died.
Usually I show off pictures of Gail here, (she's doing find by the way). Gail is a fun dog who loves to constantly run and play, but Alex was the one that I could really count on for affection. He would hop up on my chest when I was resting in my recliner and purr. He would be there at the door to greet me when I came home. He would keep me company when I pooped. He would wake me in the morning, and insist I gave him a thorough petting before I went to sleep at night. He talked to me with his incessant meows, and made sure I never left the house without filling the food and water bowls. Alex loved to get his "full kitty massage" complete with belly rubs, and he was the kind of cat that would walk up and headbutt me to let me know I was his as much as he was mine.
Flush Twice has been around since May of 2003. It started out as a JOTD (Joke of the Day) website. New jokes were published every weekday. Over the years, good jokes were increasingly hard to come by, and eventually they got so rare that I just stopped trying to publish them.
Since 2004 there has also been an eponymous comic. I still occasionally publish a new one on Saturdays. It’s also rare anymore, but sometimes it happens.
Here lately I’ve been posting a “Link of the Day”. For the time being, I will be featuring a new website from my enormous collection of bookmarked websites every weekday. None of it is solicited promotions, and no one is paying me to feature their site. These are just websites that at one time I thought were interesting enough to add to my bookmarks folder.
I highly encourage using some kind of ad blocking extension before clicking on any of these links. You’ll also hear me say this phrase a lot about these posts: “They can’t all be winners.” But it’s better than just leaving the site abandoned.
The jokes were generously provided by friends and visitors such as yourself. I want to express my eternal thanks to everyone over the years who helped contribute to the collection.
So what is it that makes a joke funny?
It all boils down to a sudden shift in perception. The story starts you thinking one way, then the punchline turns that thinking on its ear. The art of the joke is to craft a short story that isn’t overly contrived, then deliver a punchline that suddenly shifts your perception about the story you were being told.
Many of the jokes on this site are offensive, and I make no apologies for it. Offensive jokes work by making the reader uncomfortable through the use of a taboo subject thus enhancing the underlying humor. Without the offensive element, the joke would simply not be as funny.
